Once Upon a December
by LTW
Summary: Delilah Machiavelli has always dreamed of finding the handsome prince. When her husband Giovanni doesn't live up to her expectations, she finds an unlikely prince waiting next door. Eldershipping vs. Diamondshipping, pt. 2 of 6, happy b-day Angelstars!
1. The Prince of Darkness

**Disclaimer**: Pokemon belongs to a lot of people who have a lot of money and power, both here in America and abroad. Unfortunately, I'm not one of them. No one should get bent out of shape; I'm just borrowing these guys for a while. All apologies also to any pop culture references warped. I'm just borrowing them, too. And finally, I don't own those songs "Once Upon A December," or "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." If I did, I would be rich and generally happy and able to sit around writing fanfics all day long. ^_^;;;

**Prelude**: Well, this one ain't gonna increase my popularity, but it will increase SADRN numbers. The Revolution will not be denied! Latonya and her favorite couple take on Diamondshipping, fairy tales, and _Anastasia_ songs. If you have the _Anastasia_ soundtrack, listen to the Deana Carter version, because it's the one I used. This one has a big fat R rating on it, kids, for being Eldershippy and spicy (but eternally tasteful).

A*MON, this story is yours, all yours! Happy birthday, and thanks for being the other vocal Eldershipper! Hope this story is worthy of the dedication to you! Shoutouts also to the Eldershipping Brigade--Llyxius, Spruceton Spook, Ilex, Mysterious Eldershipper, Gia, Fallon, Neongene, Leah, and all you other guys out there. You guys rule so much! *_* Enjoy, send intelligent comments to cursumperficio@bellsouth.net.

**Once Upon A December**

_By Latonya Wright_

**Part 1: The Princess and the Prince of Darkness**

_She pressed a tiny hand to the windowpane, watched the snowflakes as they cascaded toward earth. It was December--the time when the world went into hibernation. Or so everyone else thought. She knew better. December, to her, was a time when life was _created_, when new forms and identities came into existence._

_"It's a beautiful night," a warm tenor murmured behind her. She turned to face her lover, felt her face grow warm as she gazed upon his body. "I'm sorry, my princess. Did I scare you?"_

_"No. I was just thinking of you and me and all our other Decembers together."_

_"They have been wonderful, haven't they?" He nuzzled her neck; she savored the feel of his mouth there._

_"Mom!" Her child called to her; he and his friends were racing down the stairs to find her. Her lover moved away just in time. "Mom! Is it time for you to tell the Princess Delilah story yet? I've been telling Brock, Tracey, and Misty about it, and they want to hear it!"_

_The redheaded young woman sighed dramatically. "Yeah, Mrs. Ketchum, it sounds so romantic!"_

_"My brothers and sisters always like fairy tales; maybe I can tell them this one," the darkly handsome young man replied._

_"The Professor was telling me about it," the observant artist announced. "I knew it had to be great if he liked it."_

_"Please, Mom?" Her son was bouncing up and down in agitation._

_She gazed at her lover. He smiled gently at her. "Why not, Mrs. Ketchum? It seems like the perfect night to tell it."_

_After a moment, she returned his smile. "All right. I've never had an audience this large, but I'll do the best I can. Everybody get comfortable--the story's kind of long."_

_She watched as the children cheered, took places on the couch and the carpet. The prince of her heart reclined in his burgundy armchair, gave her an intense, loving gaze. When everyone was settled, she closed her eyes, tilted her head, let her silence and the snow and the frost on the window create the mood. Finally, she slowly opened her eyes, spoke in the barest whisper._

_"Once upon a time, here in the Iroke mountains, a young woman named Delilah wished for a prince..."_

_Dancing bears..._

_Please, just let me sleep tonight._

But the hand knocked the sheets away, grabbed her breasts, squeezed. She damned her body's involuntary response. 

_Why should this night be any different from the others, though?_

Cringing at the creak of the bedsprings. Wincing as his large hands tore through her delicate auburn-red hair. Doing her damndest not to shy away from the touch of a cool hand on her skin, at the brush of chapped lips on her neck, breasts, stomach. Then having to open herself to... that.

_No. Not right now. Don't you see I'm not ready? You have to wait..._

She closed her eyelids tightly, tried to shut out the light completely. _No, not like that..._

Her eyes snapped open, grew moist and blurry. _It hurts! Oh, God, it hurts!_ She bit her lip, felt the teeth cut her flesh, felt the blood's metallic taste on her tongue.

_It's hurting me... You're not supposed to hurt me..._ and the constant movement, the strange positioning, the intense gaze not focused on her face/ eyes/ upper body, did nothing to alleviate the pain.

_Please, someone, something, just make it stop..._

She turned her own watery gaze upon the wall's shadows.

_Even better, let it work tonight._

Watched the dark shadows, tried to imagine that the shadows belonged to someone else, that their rhythmic motions were merely part of some horrendous slideshow that could be turned on and off.

_Let us finally make our child._

She damned her minor involuntary response again. Thanked God that it was over.

_Maybe now he'll be gentle. If he's gentle with me just once, I can handle all of this..._

No kiss, no touch, no words from her husband. Just the crush of his weight on her body, just the quick withdrawal. Seconds later, his complete withdrawal as he turned away from her. He pulled a few of the sheets with him, leaving her partially exposed to the chill December air.

Five minutes later, Giovanni Machiavelli was snoring, leaving his pretty young wife awake to deal with her problems. Leaving her to tolerate her pain and loneliness in cold, dark silence; forcing her to endure his tossing and turning and constant snore-rumbling.

_That bastard._

Delilah Machiavelli buried her face in her pillow, tried to smother her sobs as she wept for the beautiful fantasy now lost.

_Painted wings..._

_Illusions._

When Delilah's tears had dried, when she had grown numb to the slight chill in the air, that word had floated to the surface of her consciousness. It had been a major keyword throughout her life, though she might have translated it as merely "flights of the imagination."

Because, before... well, before reality had arrived with a wedding march, even before Giovanni had come along, _fantasy_ loves had seemed richer than transient human relationships. What girl hasn't fallen into her fairy tale dreams? Wouldn't it be wonderful to have that handsome prince, riding on a white Rapidash, come to sweep you off your feet? In her youthful naïveté, Delilah Sawyer had foolishly sworn never to marry until the man who did such things came along.

Times change, though, and so do people. Fairy tales get translated into new metaphors for the society and era--and being an old maid was unappealing enough to make her rearrange her dreams just a bit. If her prince wouldn't come on a white Rapidash, then he would certainly come in a blaze of movie-style, yuppie chivalry, much like this: Boy shyly asks Girl on date. Boy brings Girl flowers. Boy takes Girl to football games. Boy takes Girl to wildly expensive restaurants. Boy lavishes Girl with attention and popularity and money and romance, and all Boy demands in return is that Girl will be his wife someday, that Girl will be the right girl to take home to Mama, to bear his children. No one did that anymore either, though...

Enter Giovanni Machiavelli.

Delilah had been a sophomore at the University of Indigo-Viridian when the swarthy Italian had greeted her in a coffee shop. They had hit it off right away, though he was a senior and a business major (horrors!). By the end of that conversation, he was shyly scuffing his polished loafers on the floor and saying, "Hey, would you like to have dinner with me sometime? I'd like to get to know you better." When she had accepted, and he had come to pick her up, he had brought her flowers before taking her to the ritzy Café New Delhi.

Over the course of two years, he became what she thought a prince should be--both in the real world and in the long-lost kingdoms. A prince should come from an old family; Giovanni was merely the latest in a dynasty that stretched back to the sixteenth century. A prince should have money and power; his father, Viridian City Pokemon Gym Leader Giacomo, provided power, while his mother Sophia enhanced the family fortunes as an art dealer. A prince should be handsome and chivalrous; Giovanni's Mediterranean looks and his suave manners made women swoon. And he treated Delilah like a queen: taking her to those expensive restaurants and football games, bringing her flowers and money and popularity... and eventually taking her home to meet Mama, and asking her to be his wife, right there in front of his mother and father!

She rolled over in a futile attempt to escape the snores of her husband.

Merely six months later, of course, her life had become a vicious cycle. Gone were the tiny gifts of love, of flowers and manners and time spent together. Suddenly Giovanni became intensely interested in the family businesses. He spent most of his days in the gym with his father and most of his nights involved in important deals with his mother's business... or so he said. And the late nights... she shuddered, remembering all the quick, near-forceful couplings, remembering every time he rolled over and fell asleep without the slightest sign of affection.

In her loneliness, she often wondered what the hell they were collecting, what the hell they were training so hard for. She wondered if he was really "training" and "collecting." Perhaps he had another lover somewhere. That might explain why their sexual encounters had degenerated, falling from clumsy attempts at lovemaking to the mere introduction of sperm to egg.

Of course. Why Wouldn't he take a lover? A mistress would provide a solution to the "baby problem." Six months of marriage had passed, and still they had failed to create an heir to the Machiavelli empire. Giovanni--or more precisely, Giovanni's mother--had demanded that a child come, and quickly, to ensure that the Machiavelli name did not die, to ensure that the family business would survive and thrive. As one of her husband's ancestors had said, "The end justifies the means." A mistress might be able to provide what she could not...

Even as she tortured herself with thoughts of her own failings, Delilah cursed every time she had been failed. She had always aspired to win the love of a prince... she had even been willing to take a kitchen servant, so long as the man loved her. Yet her prince, her knight, even her stable boy had disappeared...

Delilah gave a last weak tug on the covers, rolled over once more before closing her eyes and giving herself up to the illusions of her dreams. 

_Things I almost remember..._

"Morning, babydoll," Giovanni said to her as he ambled into the kitchen the next dawn. He gave her the kiss on both cheeks, the affectionate swat on the bottom with the newspaper. That was his morning greeting ritual. When they first came to the winter cottage in Pallet Town, she had hoped that he would leave that habit in their penthouse in Viridian. Unfortunately, it and the rest of their habits had come along for the winter vacation too.

Still, Delilah smiled and performed her part of the ritual. "Hi, honey, did you sleep well?" she asked. Handed him a cup of coffee, with one teaspoon of non-dairy creamer and two teaspoons of sugar. Waited for his response...

"Yeah, I did. It was a really nice night." The suggestive smile, the wink that implied "something happened." And he tossed back the cup of java in two gulps. "What's for breakfast?"

No words to her, no "how was your night," no "honey." She didn't know why she hoped for change. "One of your favorites. Tomato, mushroom, spinach, and feta cheese quiche." It had been really hard to make, especially on only three hours of sleep, but she had done it anyway.

"Aw, thanks, babydoll. You always make the best breakfasts."

As Delilah brought him the plate of quiche, she grinned. At least she was giving her husband pleasure _somewhere_, and that made everything--every unsatisfied night, every mention of a baby and the "business," every tortured dream--worthwhile. She felt a bit foolish for turning an adoring gaze upon a fork slicing through quiche, but who cared?

Giovanni carefully cut into his quiche, balanced a piece upon his fork. "Smells great, Delilah."

_Ring ring ring, ring ring ring, phone call, phone call!_ The videophone rang, startling Gio and Delilah, causing breakfast to tumble off the fork.

"I'll get it, sweetheart. You just enjoy your breakfast." As she hurried to the phone, she pounded a fist in her palm. Now who the hell would call at seven thirty in the morning? She'd known the answer before she'd pressed the Answer button. "Hello, Machiavelli residence," she said primly.

The accented feminine voice was a whipcrack. "_Buon giorno_, Delilah. I trust you and Giovanni are well this morning."

"Yes, Mama Machiavelli, we're fine." She fought desperately to keep her tone light and civil. Yes, who else always called before breakfast? Good ol' Sophia.

"You certainly look relaxed, _bella_. I knew that time in the country would help. Where is my son?"

_Oh, no, you don't, Sophia Machiavelli. You won't take him away from me this morning._ "He's up and about. But he's in the middle of breakfast right now. Would it be all right if you called him back in half an hour?"

"I'm sorry, _cara mia_. I must speak to him immediately about the business. There is something I must have him do. A business trip. You understand, don't you, _bella_?"

Defeated again. "Of course, Mama Machiavelli. Hold on for just a moment, I'll get him."

Her husband was actually just behind her. "Sorry, babydoll," he said apologetically. "I'll be just a few minutes. Keep it warm for me, though, huh?" Then, without any preamble, he launched into his rapid Italian. "Hey, Mama, _saluto, che--_" 

Delilah padded back into the kitchen. Her tummy rumbled and clenched in a cramp. She felt like hell. In her anger and hatred, she remembered that she hated quiche.

She sat there and dreamed of a land where people served her cinnamon French toast every day, in bed. Where men actually seemed to care about women. Where mother-in-laws were forced to burn on pyres when their children married.

The telephone conversation actually took twenty minutes. Sophia barked out commands; Gio returned them with a curt _si_. At one point, however, Gio's words became a pleading whine. Although Delilah's Italian was terrible at best, she was able to understand the word _bambino_, something about Christmas, and something about mountains. And words that sounded like "Mia" and "Mew."

Eventually Gio said "_Ciao_." 

Delilah didn't bother to look up from her quiche when he returned. "What did Mama want, honey?"

He sighed. "There's somethin' I gotta tell ya, Delilah."

Gio's tone was too grave. She looked up, saw her husband's dispirited gaze. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

"I have to... Mama wants me to... oh, God." He ran a hand through his thick black hair. "Look, I know we were supposed to stay here in the winter cottage together, and I know it's sort of a vacation from Viridian and work and all that. But..."

She shifted in her seat. Waited for the bomb to drop.

"But Mama wants me to lead a team of... archaeologists in a dig of sorts. We gotta look for some really rare and valuable artifacts, and Mama thinks I'm the best man to lead this expedition."

Delilah's hand gripped her fork. "Mmm-hmm," she answered after a moment. "Okay. And when does the dig start?"

"In two days." As if he were anticipating her next question, he continued, "I don't know how long it'll take. Hopefully the expedition will end before Christmas."

"Hm." She tapped the fork upon the china, nodded. "Well, I'd have liked to spend Christmas here at the cottage, but if I have to come along with you, that's fine."

A silence. Then, "Delilah, I don't... you can't come along, babydoll."

She dropped her fork and gave him an incredulous look.

"See, the expedition's not here in Indigo or Johto or the Islands. It's over in the Andes Mountains. I gotta go to Argentina."

Giovanni kept talking. He said something about a Mew. He said something about making a find that would make him the most powerful gym leader in Kanto. He said something about the dig's far reaching effects. And he mentioned how it would help their family, once they were able to really settle down and start having babies.

She shook her head. "Gio, it's our first Christmas together as... as a family."

Giovanni reached across the table, grabbed her hands. "Delilah, what is it we Machiavellis always saying? The end justifies the means, remember? If I can just go and make this find, we'll be rich and powerful enough to spend every other Christmas together--without any more interruptions from anything. Isn't that worth sacrificing one Christmas for, babydoll?"

She could have understood that sentiment... if he'd only left it at that.

"Besides, Mama and Papa really want me to do this. I want to do this because it's really important to them."

Delilah wept, remembering a time when Giovanni never mentioned his family, remembering a time when Giovanni thought of her as more than just his wife, remembering a time when there was no wicked witch.

That night, Giovanni tried to be gentle with her.

She gnawed her lip, shut her eyes tightly, tried to dream of the handsome prince with dark eyes and a mysterious smile.

_And a song someone sings_

The next morning, Delilah slept late. Her stomach clenched when she heard Giovanni rumbling around in the closets. Was she ill? Was it morning sickness? If she were pregnant, he might stay...

"You up, babydoll? I fixed breakfast for you. Your favorite... Belgian waffles!"

_No, Gio. It's cinnamon French toast. Thank you anyway, sweetheart._

Her stomach lurched when she smelled the food. She crossed her fingers and dug in. She balanced the syrup-laden waffle sliver upon her fork...

"Hi-yah, Rapunzel, hi-yah!"

The deep cry startled her, caused the waffle to pitch off her fork and into her lap.

"What the hell was that?" Giovanni tore open the curtains, gazed out the window. Delilah came behind him, peeped over his shoulder. A man, dressed in black polo attire, was riding past on a white Rapidash. Giovanni began to laugh.

"What's so funny? We've got some sort of mad horseman riding around our house, and you're laughing?"

"Sorry. I'd just forgotten about Professor Oak and his horse-riding fetish."

The mysterious rider galloped down the gravel road, kicked tiny stones up in its hooves. Delilah watched the man, tall and proud, as he sat in the saddle. "Who's Professor Oak?"

"He's the town's Pokemon expert, and our next-door neighbor. Owns a pretty nice lab up the hill. He's kinda kooky, though. They say he got even kookier after his wife bought it earlier this year."

"Kooky? His wife bought something that drove him crazy?"

Giovanni laughed again, turned away to resume his packing. "No, no, silly. I mean, he's kinda... eccentric's the word for it. His wife--she was a pretty famous Pokemon researcher too. She died this year, and since she died... folks say he rarely associates with anyone. Just stays up in his lab and his house being the mad scientist."

Delilah was shocked. So Giovanni intended to leave her in town with the resident psycho living next door?

"Of course, he's always been nice to me and my family. He's a good guy. Just a bit..." Giovanni shrugged. "I'm describing him badly. Why don't we go up and meet him later on? Then you'll see what I mean."

"Are you serious?"

"Sure. Besides, he'll be nearby in case you need any help while I'm gone. It'll be good to get to know him now, right?"

Delilah gazed out the window once more. The horseman was almost a speck as he rode up the hill. "All right, you're right, honey. Let me get dressed."

But five minutes later, she was still gazing at the mountain, looking for any sign of the mysterious horseman on the white Rapidash.

The Machiavellis finally left the tiny cottage after lunch. Giovanni looked darkly dashing in his black Burberry coat. Delilah countered his dark winter clothing with a splash of color; her burgundy velvet cloak flowed gracefully around her, and the fur-lined hood framed her face. Naturally Giovanni hated it. "Do ya have to wear that thing? What are we doing, going to a Renaissance festival or somethin'?" She did not tell him that she felt like a medieval princess in the cloak; she merely reminded him that it was her late mother's gift to her.

They walked side by side through the Professor's grounds. His Pokemon Preserve served as both a home for Pallet trainers' pokemon and as a pleasant park for residents. Giovanni pointed out various spots he remembered from his childhood. Occasionally a stray non-hibernating Pokemon would wander past them, make a cooing noise. Delilah laughed, knelt to pet the creature if it seemed friendly. Giovanni frowned, murmured something about being away from his Pokemon for too long.

Just as they were approaching the Oak home, the sound of galloping hooves cut through the silent stillness. She whirled around, saw the same man in black polo attire riding up on the white Rapidash. As he came closer, Delilah saw that the man was older--perhaps in his late forties. Despite the faint lines in his face, despite the graying hair, he looked very distinguished in his riding jacket, and Delilah found herself admiring his noble features, the way he carried himself.

"Giovanni!" The horseman greeted the younger man warmly as he reined in the fire horse. "I thought someone might be staying in your cottage. I didn't expect it to be _you_, though. It's wonderful to see you again." He gracefully dismounted, shook Giovanni's hand.

"Good to see you too, Samuel. I knew there was only one guy who would ride around like that!" A moment of polite laughter, then Giovanni continued. "Hey, listen, there's someone I want you to meet." Giovanni took Delilah's arm, drew her forward. "This is my new wife, Delilah. Delilah, this is Professor Samuel Oak."

"It's very nice to meet you, Professor Oak." She extended a gloved hand for him to shake.

The Professor gazed at her a moment. Then, before she could react, he turned her hand so it rested palm down in his. He carefully bent over, placed a kiss upon her glove. "_Freut mich, Fraulein_." She must have appeared shocked, because the Professor laughed. "I'm sorry. You look so courtly in that cloak--I felt like kissing your hand."

"I told ya it was a silly cloak," Giovanni laughed. She turned crimson with shame and embarrassment.

"No, Giovanni! Quite the contrary!" The Professor smiled at her. "The cloak is very beautiful. It makes Mrs. Machiavelli seem... so regal." Now her face turned red from the older man's praise, though somehow she found the words to thank him.

They walked along the grounds together. The Professor led his horse, who was named Rapunzel, while Giovanni held tight to Delilah's arm. As they walked, the three of them engaged in idle conversation. Delilah wondered why Giovanni thought the man was crazy. The Professor seemed to be very intelligent, cultured, and... she hesitated before adding the word _handsome_.

"Say, Sam, I was wondering," Giovanni began. "I've got to go off on a business trip tomorrow... and I'm afraid Delilah can't come along with me. Would it be all right if she kinda relied on you if she needed help while I'm away?"

"I wouldn't want to be a burden, especially during the holidays," Delilah added quickly.

"No, Mrs. Machiavelli. Of course you may stop by my home at any time, and the grounds are yours to explore at your leisure. You may find that there's a lot here worth exploring. For instance, over there is my pond," the Professor said, pointing it out to her. "Many people in Pallet like to ice skate there. Even your husband skated there when he was younger. Naturally you're welcome to do the same, though I'm trying to keep people away from it until I'm absolutely sure it's frozen over. I wouldn't want anyone to fall in." He thought a moment, then continued. "And of course there's plenty of human company around. I'll be there, my servants will be there... my son and his family will be arriving a little before Christmas. We'd love to have your company."

"Thanks, Professor. I'll certainly come by."

"I eagerly await it. Though I wonder..." He turned to Giovanni. "You say you've only been married for six months. I'm quite surprised that your mother would have you leave so soon after your marriage, and so close to your first Christmas together. Couldn't you perhaps switch with someone? Sophia ought to understand..."

Delilah's eyes grew large; Giovanni's grew narrow. "It is a rather important business trip," Gio responded, with a mocking tone.

The Professor nodded. "I see." His eyes fell to his wristwatch. "Oh, dear, two already! I hate to leave you, but I have some things to do at the lab." He mounted the horse, touched a hand to his forehead in a salute. "_Enchante, madame_. I hope to see you again. Have a good trip, Giovanni." He gently nudged the horse's flanks. "Hi-yah!"

He trotted away, leaving Delilah open-mouthed and Giovanni angered. "See, babydoll? The man's a nut. Telling me I can't go on my trip. God, I can't believe..."

As Giovanni muttered and the Professor rode away, Delilah became aware of a faint whistling. She tried to place the song... "Let me call you sweetheart," she whispered after a moment. _But who was whistling it, and why?_

That night, Giovanni was rough with her again. She was afraid, tired, lonely, although she did take solace in the knowledge that her neighbor thought Gio was wrong for leaving her. She wept.

_Once upon a December._

The next afternoon, Giovanni had attempted to kiss her tears away at Viridian Airport. "Aw, don't cry, babydoll. I'll be back before you know it."

_Oh, you fool_, she screamed inwardly. _Don't you realize that I don't want to wait until you come back? Don't you realize that I'm lonely and tired and unhappy and confused and even frightened? Don't you understand that your wife and not your mother needs you right now?_ But she pasted a smile on her face, just as she done countless times before. "Sorry, Gio. I'm just being a sentimental wuss, I know."

"Well, don't be," Giovanni answered. His uncle Sergio came over, whispered Italian words to Giovanni. He cursed and rose to his feet. "Be right back, babydoll. Mama needs me to check on something."

She furiously tore at the wad of Kleenex in her lap. _Goddammit, Gio!_

"Excuse me," a soft feminine voice behind her said, shoving her out of her mental rant. Delilah turned to face the person, a woman she remembered from other encounters in Viridian's office. The young woman held out a hand for Delilah to shake. "Hello, Mrs. Machiavelli. My name is Miya Lewis. I'm part of the field team going to the Andes."

As Delilah took the agent's hand, she marveled at the woman's sheer attractiveness. Long dark hair that appeared purple in the light, blue-grey eyes, finely chisled facial features... the woman could have been a model. Was this the mistress? "Very nice to meet you, Ms. Lewis."

"I hope I'm not intruding, but I couldn't help overhearing you and Giovanni." Miya smiled bitterly. "It's not fair, is it? That they should decide to take us away from our loved ones for the holidays, just for their own profit, just to get some damned..." But the young woman shook her head, muttered, "I'd better watch what I say. Madame Boss isn't thrilled with me at the moment."

Delilah's eyes widened. This woman worked for the Machiavellis... yet she hated it? Impulsively she grabbed Miya's arm. "No, it's all right. You can talk to me. I don't think I'm a friend of the Machiavellis either."

Miya grinned. "Ah, yes. You must see how... close-knit and... focused they are all the time." They laughed, knowing that was the understatement of the century.

They chatted, traded brief, humorous stories about Giovanni and Sophia. Eventually Miya pulled a picture from her wallet. "I'm sorry, I almost forgot why I came over in the first place. I'd like to show you the loved one I'm leaving behind. This is my daughter, Jessica--we call her Jessie."

The little girl appeared to be six years old. She had flaming red hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that would charm the sting out of an Arbok's bite. A wave of emotion swept through Delilah: adoration for the child, the anger at not having one of her own, regret that this woman was being taken away from her family, fear that this child was Giovanni's... "She's beautiful."

"Thank you. I think seeing you with your red hair reminded me of her. I felt like I needed to come tell you that... that you weren't the only one being abandoned for work." Miya sighed. "I hardly ever get to see my baby anymore. I'm always working, doing a job I don't like, and I'm always far from my Jessie-bear. It kills me..." Miya sniffled. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to waste your time with stories of my life."

Delilah now held the woman's hand, overwhelmed with compassion for her. "No, it's all right. But tell me... why work for Sophia if you don't like what you do? Why not just leave? Then you can be with your daughter all the time."

The blue-grey eyes held a hint of confusion. "You mean you... No, I guess you don't! Let's just say, then, that Sophia's organization isn't easy to leave." Miya smiled bitterly again. "I... do what I must to take care of my daughter. So that someday she won't have to do anything like this, _ever_." After a moment, Miya glanced up. "Here come the Bosses now. I'd better get ready to board the plane."

Giovanni was walking towards them, with Sophia on one side and his teenage cousin Jiri on the other. He was talking to his cousin, waving around some sort of card. "Hey, Jiri, I know you wanted to come along and help us out, but your Papa says you're too young. Well, lemme give you something that you can collect while we're gone. This is an Ancient Mew card..."

The boy's eyes lit up as his older cousin handed him the trinket. "Wow, thanks, cousin Gio!"

"This'll make you a collector like us someday..."

"Mrs. Machiavelli," Miya murmured. "If they should ask about our conversation... please don't tell them what I've said."

Delilah nodded. "I won't. Have a safe trip… and good luck to you."

Miya Lewis smiled, turned away to gather her luggage. Delilah could feel someone's gaze upon her. She turned, saw Sophia's sharp dark eyes fixed upon her. The gaze caused her stomach to flutter, sent chills down her spine. The thought sprang to mind, unbidden: _Sophia misses nothing_.

Gio had kissed her goodbye, left her standing there with Giacomo, Sophia, Sergio, and Jiri. "You are certainly welcome to stay with us here in Viridian City, _cara_," Giacomo murmured to her. Sergio and Sophia said nothing, merely stared at her with identical dark gazes.

Her father-in-law was a very sweet, softspoken man. If he had been the only Machiavelli, Delilah would have stayed. However, Sophia and Sergio's cold stares, combined with that insistent stomach flutter, kept her from accepting. "I appreciate it, Papa Machiavelli. But I've been feeling a bit sick lately. I think some time in the fresh country air will make me feel better." At her words, Sophia lifted her eyebrows but said nothing.

Miya Lewis' words echoed in her mind all through the drive back to Pallet Town. _Please don't tell them what I've said… Let's just say, then, that Sophia's organization isn't easy to leave…_Was Miya Gio's mistress? Was Jessica Gio's child? Why couldn't she just leave the art dealership? And why would Sophia be so interested in Miya's conversation anyway? What did it all mean?

Stress and fatigue eventually drove Delilah to the tiny bathroom. As she threw up, she repeated one mantra, secure in the knowledge that at least one of her dreams would become reality. _I must be pregnant_. _I must be pregnant_. Her imagination created a new reality around the thought—she imagined their child, imagined Gio loving her and the child, imagined Gio leaving the business and training to spend time with her and the child.

Later that evening, another bathroom trip shattered her dreams once again.

There would be no child. Not this time.

Delilah watched the last of her illusions die, sobbed for herself and the lost child-that-could-have-been.

**End Part 1**

**Postlude**: Coming up next time—the Prince of Light rides into Delilah's life. Stay tuned! 


	2. The Prince of Dreams

**Disclaimer**: Pokemon belongs to a lot of people who have a lot of money and power, both here in America and abroad. Unfortunately, I'm not one of them. No one should get bent out of shape; I'm just borrowing these guys for a while. All apologies also to any pop culture references warped. I'm just borrowing them, too. And finally, I don't own those songs "Once Upon A December," or "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." If I did, I would be rich and generally happy and able to sit around writing fanfics all day long. ^_^;;;

**Prelude**: Woo, it's been a while since we've seen this story! It's still your story, Angelstars, honey! Maybe if we're lucky it'll be finished by your next birthday, eh? LOL! This chapter features unauthorized cameos by Angelstars, Cultnirvana, Misty Blue, Neongene, and the former Pokewriter25, just because I needed names and you guys were at the top of the email list. Hope that's okay! ^_^;;; Shoutouts also to the Eldershipping Brigade--Llyxius, Spruceton Spook, Ilex, Mysterious Eldershipper, Gia, Fallon, and all you other guys out there. I love my people! *_* Enjoy, send intelligent comments to cursumperficio@bellsouth.net.****

**Once Upon a December**

_By Latonya Wright_

**Part 2: The Princess and the Prince of Dreams**

_"Thus Prince Vanni rode away, over the Iroke mountains, to seek the magical Pokemon who would grant his every wish. Princess Delilah bid farewell to her husband and his battalion." She lifted a hand, waved it slowly, gazed off into the distance. "She watched as they retreated, watched as the Rapidash hooves kicked up the snow, watched until they became no more than a speck on the distant mountainside. His Majesty was most gracious to the princess, and since she was now the Crown Princess, he offered her sanctuary in the Viridian castle. However, Her Majesty and the Lord Chamberlain's disapproval shone from their eyes, so the Princess politely declined, saying that she loved her homeland. After the Royal Family departed, Princess Delilah trudged back to her small cottage, cold, alone, childless, unloved." She closed her eyes, silently gathering strength for the next portion of the story._

_"Oh, how terrible," Misty breathed, clutching Ash's arm. "Poor Princess Delilah. To think that Prince Vanni abandoned her in a strange and foreign land... all alone, during the winter." The girl shivered. "I couldn't imagine!"_

_"Yeah, but remember, Misty, the other prince was there too," Brock pointed out. "What was his name again?"_

_"Prince Garrett." Tracey had grabbed a sketchpad during her story; she knew he was bringing her words to life. As he spoke, she could hear the faint scratching of his pencil on the page. "Prince Garrett. What an intriguing name. I'd be interested to hear why you chose it."_

_Was the boy able to see through her tale? Did he know that it was more fact than fiction? That explained why she never told the tale to outsiders--But she opened her eyes, saw her lover's gaze, warm and adoring, upon her, and she smiled._

_Before she could answer, Misty was boldly declaring, "It's a _dashing_ name! I think I'd want someone with such a strong name to come rescue me!"_

_"Yeah, Prince Garrett," Brock was murmuring. "He's nearby, so if anything happens to the Princess, he'll be able to save her... nice strategy on his part... maybe if I--"_

_"Shh, guys, shut up!" Her child's patience could only last so long. Now he waved a hand in the effort to shush his friends. "We're getting to my favorite part! Go ahead, Mom, keep going."_

_Her child said that about every part of the tale. Still, after Misty had swatted him, after Brock had broken up the ensuing fight, and as Tracey steadily regarded her with poised pencil, she took another deep breath and continued._

_"Princess Delilah passed five long, lonely days in the cottage. She read, spun at her wheel, waited. Soon, however, she grew bored of her home. She decided to explore her surroundings..."_

_Someone holds me safe and warm,_

A few days later, Delilah's monthly flow had ended. The cramps, the seemingly ceaseless flow, the knowledge that a child was not residing within her body, all those hurts and disappointments finally dwindled to a dull ache inside her.

Giovanni had called last night; Delilah couldn't bring herself to tell him they had failed again. He had asked with his usual amount of tactlessness. She had merely shrugged and crossed her fingers in reply. She ordinarily would have killed for the hopeful look on his face, but now... now it didn't seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Delilah soon grew weary of moping. She would have all the time in the world to mope once Giovanni returned. Right now, though, it was December. It was nearly Christmas, which had always been her favorite time of year. And it was still winter. She still had time to feel the crisp air on her face, to play in the light blanket of snow... even to go ice-skating on Professor Oak's pond. Yes, that sounded like a lovely idea. He had said to wait a few days for the ice to grow firm... perhaps now the pond would be just frozen enough. So she leapt from bed, dressed warmly in sweatshirt, turtleneck, jeans, sought her skates before she could change her mind.

The mountain climate had been just as she imagined--fresh, clean, cool air, panoramic views for miles, an eerie yet comforting silence. It was much easier to fall back into her fairy tale world when no one was around to annoy her, when the only sign of civilization was a faraway cottage with a thin trail of smoke snaking from the chimney.

Because the real world had worn her out, and because the world of fairy tales and dreams was completely hers to command, Delilah fell into her dream world as soon as her skates touched the pond.

She began slowly, moved in slow circles around the pond's perimeter while her imagination set the scene. In her mind, gone were the scruffy winter clothes, the earmuffs and mittens. No, now she wore a sparkling white gown. She was Odile, the Swan Princess, trapped forever on the enchanted lake, trapped in the body of a swan, trapped in the evil witch's eternal summerland. Unable to fly, only able to stretch her wings in desperate grace (as she lifted her arms in arching port-de-bras, just as the ballerinas had done once). Bound forever to the enchanted lake by the power of the witch's spell, forced to circle eternally...

...until one night, when she lifted her head from the water, gazed longingly at the stars... saw her handsome prince and savior sitting on the lakeside, gazing dreamily at her. The full moon reminded her; tonight she would return briefly to human form. If she could get to the dark-eyed prince, could persuade him to save her... Delilah/ Odile skimmed the water's surface elegantly, turned in graceful circles. Yes. He was gazing at her. If she could just fly to him, he would protect her.

She skimmed the water rapidly now, spread her wings, forced herself to soar through the air. Yes. She was flying to the dark-eyed prince, sailing towards him with double axel jumps. And she prepared to land near him...

The ice split with a thundering crack as she landed, plunging her into the icy waters.

She kicked, struggled, fought the water and the floating islands of ice. So cold. Winter clothes pulling her down. Skates pulling her down. Wing-arms useless.

_No, dammit, live, the prince..._

Face to face with a hibernating Gyrados, flailing mittenless hands touching rough scales. The water, cold and unyielding, smothering Delilah's screams.

_Where is my hero..._

...and she saw another form in that moist hell. Mindlessly she reached for it, clawed at it, gulped water in an attempt to get to it. She blacked out.

Then Delilah was coughing, retching water and bile, and someone was holding her close as she vomited and shivered. She sobbed against the person. The voice murmured sweetly to her, told her that everything was all right and that he would take care of her. She fainted again.

She awakened, saw that she was naked in a strange bed. She wondered how that had happened, wondered if the whole accident had been a dream or a nightmare.

"Thank God, you're awake," a vaguely familiar voice said. It was the same voice that had murmured to her by the pond, but she had heard it before. Delilah turned towards it, anxious to know her rescuer.

Professor Oak sat by her bedside, wrapped in a blanket. His hair was still wet. He looked weary, but he mustered up enough energy to give her a weak smile.

"Professor." Her throat constricted, but she managed to force out the words after a few attempts. "Did... did you save me from..."

He nodded. "I was out riding my Rapidash when I saw you fall in. I jumped in and pulled you out. Then I brought you here to my house. My servants helped you out of those wet clothes, and I've been sitting here watching over you ever since."

So many thoughts crowded her mind then. Only one came to sound, though. "Professor... if you hadn't been there... I would have..." She shuddered. "How can I repay you? When Gio comes back--" And suddenly she felt her eyelids drooping again.

"Repay? Seeing you alive is payment enough."

"But... I..."

"No more talking. You've been through a great deal. Why don't you rest now, and we'll talk more later, when you're a bit stronger."

His voice, eyes, and smile had all felt so warm. And his advice was pretty sensible, too. "Thank you," she whispered as she returned to the land of dreams.

Before she fell asleep, Delilah noted that the prince of her fantasy had dark eyes... dark eyes much like the Professor's. The connection seemed too slight and too foolish to consider in depth.

Her own sweatshirt and jeans were still soaked, the Professor had told her when she awakened; thus, later that evening, she had gone home in masculine versions of her clothes. Delilah had wanted to walk home, to give herself time to appreciate life and to marvel at her neighbor's kindness, but Professor Oak would have none of that. "What? Send you out walking in the cold after we've worked to keep you warm? Absolutely not!" So she sat quietly in his black Jaguar, wearing borrowed clothes, while he drove down the winding road to the winter cottage.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I should have put up some sort of sign."

"No, I'm sorry." She idly twisted her wedding ring. "I shouldn't have been out there anyway. You warned us the other day, remember? Besides, if I hadn't been daydreaming, I might have seen the ice cracking or something. I was just... really into my skating."

"It was a lovely routine." At her questioning look, he replied, "I saw part of it from the hill. Were you just free skating, or were you skating some sort of story?"

Her face suddenly grew warm; Delilah hoped he could not see the flush that probably covered her face. "Oh, I was just skating," she lied. "I don't think I had any story in mind." If she had told him about the Swan Princess, the enchanted lake, and the mysterious prince, he would have thought her a raving lunatic!

"Oh, I see. I was mistaken."

The Professor's answer, in its measured and soft tones, made her pause. "Did you see a story in it?" she asked.

"Well... somewhat. If you think this sounds crazy, just remember that it's the vision of a doddering old man. When you were out there, though... the way you positioned your arms and the way you glided... I don't know. You looked like a swan. And for a minute I thought of the Swan Princess."

She froze in her seat as he chuckled. "Yes, that was a silly thing to think, wasn't it?" the Professor laughed. "I'm sorry. I'll keep my raving about fairy tales to myself from now on."

That night, as she tossed and turned in bed, she found herself wondering how a man of Professor Oak's stature had become interested in children's stories. She could not shake the mental image of an attractive older man in a study, poring carefully over a Brothers Grimm anthology.

When she finally slept that night, a soft, melodious tune drifted in and out of her dreams. Someone reading a book... chasing an Articuno... he chased a Mew... and then he offered her his hand, whispered, "May I have this dance?"... What was that song? And then she was whispering, "Sweetheart," touching his cheek... a child's coo in the distance...

She sat up, shook her head, dismissed her dream as a residual effect of her accident. The dream did not return that night.

_Horses prance through a silver storm._

The next day, she settled comfortably into her couch cushions with a cup of Darjeeling tea. The news crew of "Indigo Sunrise," KBC's morning news show and her personal favorite, engaged in their usual witty banter. _That anchor Mike Lowery is so cute_, she thought before the young, handsome man was replaced on screen by the fat, jolly weatherman.

"Well, Mike and Trini, I'm outside our studios here in Saffron with a considerably diminished crowd. Where is everybody?" The small crowd behind him whooped, cheered, tossed scarves around their necks, kicked up snow with their heavy boots. "Oh, I see, they're being smart and staying inside." Crowd laughter.

Delilah rolled her eyes, kept sipping at her tea. Sneezed.

"Yes, they're all avoiding the nor'easter that moved through Saffron five days ago and dumped 14 inches of snow on our fair city. That was enough to put Saffron on emergency alert. Now, as you can see from our handy-dandy map, this system is heading at full speed toward the southwestern part of Indigo. That means, for all of you up in the Iroke mountains, the Pallet Town, Viridian City area... be prepared, because the nor'easter will drop much more than fourteen inches of snow on you. Blizzard conditions..."

Delilah sighed, manuevered her lips to direct the air towards the curls in her bangs. "What a time to get a snowstorm," she moaned. Now she'd be stuck here in Pallet, all alone... did she have enough food? Was the heat working okay? What about getting the driveway and the walk shoveled after the storm had finished...

"That's the view across Indigo. Now, here's what's happening in your neck of the woods!"

"Good morning, Pallet Town! As Alvin just said, we're going to get the blizzard that's passed through the Saffron/ Celadon area, and we're going to get it soon. Viridian City is already getting the first batch of snowflakes--it's just a light dusting for the moment, but later tonight and far into the early morning hours, expect heavy snowfall and temperatures in the single digits. Treacherous driving conditions expected too, so please stay off the roads if you can."

She tiredly ran her hands through her hair. _Dammit._ She should have stayed in Viridian. Maybe, if she packed now and got on the road before noon, she could get there before the snow and ice rendered the roads unfit for travel. Yes, that was a fine idea. Although she didn't enjoy the prospect of time with her in-laws, at least she would have food and shelter, in a place that wasn't so... remote.

As she began dragging her warmest clothes from the closets, began stuffing them into her two battered suitcases, the videophone rang. _Great, that's probably Sophia now. Buon giorno, bella, you will come and stay here with us..._ She rolled her eyes, then trudged downstairs to take the dreaded call. As she pressed the "Answer" button, she prepared to deliver the same greeting: "Hello, Mama Machiavelli..."

"Good morning, Mrs. Machiavelli. I do hope I haven't interrupted your morning routine." 

Delilah was shocked to find that, of all the possibilities, her next-door neighbor was the hateful caller. "Why, Professor Oak! It's good to hear from you. You haven't interrupted me at all. What can I do for you?"

"Well, you may have heard that we're going to have a large blizzard here in Pallet Town. I don't know if you've ever experienced a mountain blizzard... trust me when I say they're not exactly pleasant. I wouldn't want you to be stuck in a storm alone, so I was calling to ask if you'd like to stay here at my home until the storm passes."

Delilah nibbled at her lip. The Oak mansion had been very comfortable, after all. She had hated to leave that bedroom last night, with its soft mattress, its warm, silky covers, its roaring fireplace. And staying with the Professor was certainly better than staying in Viridian City with Sophia and her brother Sergio. But... the Professor was being so kind and thoughtful to her... _and he was coming to her rescue again_... why would he--

"Unless you would prefer to stay with the Machiavellis in Viridian?" The older man looked hesitant, as if he were afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"Oh, no, no, no," she said quickly. "I mean, I'm actually liking the time here in the country. It's good to be back in my native environment..."

"Wonderful!" He grinned. "Well, you pack your things--bring as much as you want of whatever you want--and I'll send my man over with the car shortly. I look forward to having you as my guest."

_Hey, wait a minute, aren't you going to pick me up? Oh, well._ "I'll be ready very soon. Thanks very much, Professor. Good-bye!"

She packed, got dressed. To celebrate her leaving Machiavelli property, and to put on a good face for the Professor and his household, she planned to wear a long, flowing skirt, and of course she would wear her cloak.

Within moments, before she was dressed, there was a knock at the door. A handsome, swarthy young man wearing a black suit was waiting at the door. "Good evening, madame, I'm Dimitri. The Professor sent me to collect you." He nodded towards the black Jaguar and smiled. He was a handsome young man.

"Oh, dear, I'm not quite ready to go yet. My bags are, though. If you could carry those up to the house, I'll just walk." 

"Are you sure, miss? I can wait."

But she had bundled Dimitri into the Jaguar with her luggage, and sent him away with a "Tell the Professor I'll be up in a little while." Besides, she wanted to be able to dream in the countryside again.

Half an hour later, she had dressed, changed the answering machine message, made sure the car was safe in the garage, made sure everything was unplugged and turned off. As she prepared to flip her cloak hood on her head and lock the front door, Delilah heard the faint crunching of horse hooves on gravel. Horse hooves? That was... that could only be one person...

"Mrs. Machiavelli!" Professor Oak, dressed in black riding attire, galloped towards her. "You're really very stubborn, aren't you?"

"Stubborn? Me? How so?" She pulled her keys from the lock, turned to face the handsome horseman. Again he sat tall and proud in the saddle; again she found herself admiring the way he carried himself.

"I thought I told you to stay out of the cold air." He gracefully dismounted, gave her a withering look. His look was simultaneously irked and amused, however, so she laughed as she covered herself with her hood.

"I know you did, and I'm sorry. It's just so beautiful up here. I wanted to have another look at the scenery before the snow hides it. If it makes you feel any better, I've got a nasty cold, so I can't fully enjoy the view."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that last part. I'll have Karen fix you a nice bowl of soup when we get to the house. Actually, I rode down to see about your arrival... I figured you might want to see the scenery on the way to the house. I wondered if you might like to see it on horseback instead."

"Horseback? Why, I..." Delilah felt her face growing warm again. "Won't you and I be too heavy for the horse?"

"Nonsense. You're a mere slip of a girl; you weigh nothing. Isn't that right, Rapunzel?" In response, the horse whinnied, tossed her head in agreement.

Delilah, fascinated, watched the fiery mane and tail as they nodded, swished in the wind. She had seen a number of Rapidash in her life--who hadn't?--but somehow this one seemed... different. Certainly a gentleman's pet, yes, an animal brought to heel by a skillful trainer. Yet... there was more of the warrior in this horse, as if it had been prepared for a joust. No, a Crusade, or a quest to save a lady from the hands of certain peril...

Just then, the horse ambled to Delilah. She bent one front leg, stretched the other out in front of her, lowered her body, dipped her fiery head down. The first snowflakes wafted gently to earth.

"Why, look at that," the Professor remarked. "Rapunzel's curtseying to you. I think she wants you to get on. Just in time, too."

"But why?" Delilah asked in a whisper. "Why should she curtsey to me?" Because who was _she_, after all, that she should merit such an honor from a gentleman's steed?

"Well," the Professor said, coming to lead her to the horse's side, "I've taught Rapunzel to honor those who seem to be noble, worthy people." As he lifted her onto the horse, he added, "Besides, as I told you when we were first introduced, in your cloak--and with such an elegant skirt, to boot--you appear regal, or at the very least, ladylike, and therefore worthy of honor and respect." He swung himself onto Rapunzel, gently nudged her flanks. "Onward, Rapunzel."

As they trotted away, and as she held on tightly to his waist, Delilah pondered the older man's words. Ladylike. What must that mean to the Professor? Would it mean the same for any man? For instance, would Giovanni call her a lady? Would Giovanni call anyone a lady? For her part, would she still call Giovanni a prince? Would a prince have the same definition for the Professor as it did for her? She wondered.

She was so caught up in her musings that she didn't notice the slow descent of her hood. It eventually fell from her head, causing her hair to flow outward in a fiery trail, allowing cool snowflakes to leave tiny droplets on her face. He glanced over his shoulder, laughed softly. "Mrs. Machiavelli, you're exposed to the elements. You'll never get well if you allow that to happen."

His voice brought her back to the reality of a beginning blizzard. "Oh," she said awkwardly, starting to move an arm from his waist. "I didn't even notice."

"Don't let go, you might fall off. I know a way to solve it." Delilah watched as the Professor leaned towards the horse's twitching ear. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair, that I may climb the golden stair."

The Rapidash neighed, then allowed her mane and tail to become an inferno, blazing with warmth and fire. Delilah shrieked, snuggled closer to the Professor in an attempt to escape the flames.

"Don't worry." His tone was gentle. She felt a leather-gloved hand resting on her clenched hands. "She won't hurt you. I promise. Rapunzel is just letting down her hair."

She rested her cheek against the Professor's back. He was muscular, firm, rigid; it was almost too easy to let herself be supported by his stronger, larger frame. The velvet of his riding jacket was rough against her skin. She could smell the dark, woody sweetness of his cologne.

_Does Giovanni ever treat me this gently? Does Giovanni ever make me feel like this, safe and warm and ladylike?_

_Would I call the Professor a prince?_

She wondered, as the snowflakes continued to cool her face, as her wine-colored cloak and auburn-red hair billowed out in brilliant waves, as the magnificent flame beast rode through the mountain countryside.

_Figures dancing gracefully_

At the Oak mansion, Delilah smiled and nodded at the pleasant household staff. There weren't very many of them, since the mansion and its attached laboratory weren't as massive as they appeared. However, the ones present had impeccable manners, neat dress, and a simple country warmth that she hadn't experienced in a long time.

They introduced themselves to her. Trevor, the stablehand and part-time lab assistant, was in his late teens, and he wanted to be an animator someday. Dimitri, the full-time lab assistant, kissed her hand and told her that his best attribute was his charm. (From the giggles of the maids, she knew that this one might make trouble.) Ian, the accountant, told her of his love for 'good figures' and bad puns. Angie, the brash, sassy young lady, claimed never to mince words. Leah, who appeared to be Angie's "partner in crime," was a giggly, bubbly girl. Karen, the cook and the oldest staff member (though she wasn't more than twenty-seven), declared herself to be the "mother hen" of the household, and made it clear that Delilah would be spoiled during her stay.

Her first evening passed pleasantly. The whole company sat down to a dinner of filet mignon, with a healthy dose of the soup promised to her earlier. After dinner, everyone enjoyed a nightcap in the ballroom, where a fire roared and classical music played softly from a nearby phonograph. The women of the household giggled and laughed with her; the men playfully flirted, though Dimitri's flirtations were more serious; the Professor smiled at her over his glass of brandy.

Soon everyone departed for their rooms, wishing each other a good night. The Professor took her arm, led her up the staircase, delivered her to her bedroom door. "If there's anything you need, feel free to come and find one of us. We're more than happy to help." He kissed her hand once more. "Good night."

Delilah dressed in a long white nightgown, tucked herself into the large bed with the soft comforter, and resolved to watch the snowfall and the fireplace until she fell asleep. Sleep didn't come easily, however, because her mind was still full of all the wonderful things she had seen. The ride on Rapunzel, the delicious food, the gadgets in the laboratory, the Pokemon who wandered into the room occasionally... all in all, this was a strange but delightful place. And the Professor was so kind, so gallant... Delilah found herself wondering about his wife. Had he been just as gallant towards her?

After an hour, Nature began to call. Delilah realized that she had no idea where the restrooms were. _That's okay_, she thought, pulling herself from bed and gathering her matching silk robe. _I can explore the house some more._

Dim lamps in the shape of candles lit the hallway, casting everything in an ethereal glow even as it covered them in shadows. She drew her robe tightly around her body, then set out on her search. As she walked along the dark corridor, Delilah stopped to gaze at the paintings and portraits on the wall. A still life with a wine bottle and various berries--signed "S.G. Oak." A little girl, no more than three, with black hair, kissing a dark-blue-and-silver-haired woman's nose. A young man on a graduation day, surrounded by the Professor and the same blue-haired woman. His wife and his son?

She paused before a particularly strange picture. Younger versions of the Professor and the blue-haired woman, wearing matching lab coats, stood in a shiny new laboratory. His arm was draped possessively around her shoulders; her arms, however, were folded across her chest. He was smiling happily; she had a cold gaze much like that of Delilah's mother-in-law. _Goodness, if his wife had been anything like Sophia, God help him_, she thought.

Then in the silence, she heard it--strings playing a lovely descant, brass and woodwinds momentarily accompanying. Delilah struggled to place the tune. She knew it--

"Let me call you sweetheart," she whispered. The same song she had heard last week, as the Professor rode away. The same song that had haunted her dreams.

Intrigued, she hurried through the hallways, ran toward the great staircase. The ballad floated gently past the portraits, echoed from the walls... Carried along by a strong sense of intuition, Delilah began a rapid descent. She needed to know who was playing such a song, to understand what it meant to that mystery figure, to understand what it might mean to her.

She finally paused for breath mid-staircase. Her eyes surveyed the ballroom--the faint light from outside streaming through the windows, the soft glow of the fireplace, the record circling on the phonograph, the figure that was carefully waltzing across the polished floor.

She could only stare at the scene: a man with impeccable posture, his arms outstretched and encircling an imaginary woman. His movements were swift, sure--and as the music wove the sweet melody around him, a pleasing mix of light and darkness surrounded him. Delilah found herself gasping: the sheer beauty of it all was leaving her breathless... until the man danced close to the staircase, dipped the air, began to rise--

--and she found herself face to face with the Professor, of all people!

He gasped, straightened himself, trained his gaze upon the floor. "Oh, Mrs. Machiavelli," he stammered. "I'm--er... I was just... I mean, I didn't know--"

"No, Professor!" she cried, holding out a hand, as if she could stop his words. The poor man was blushing now, and he refused to look at her. How violated he must feel! How stupid she was for daring to invade his privacy! "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you! I was... I was just looking for the restroom--"

"Oh, there's one over there." He carelessly waved a hand to the left. She scurried past him, holding her robe tightly.

When she returned, the Professor was sitting in a burgundy chair, idly flipping the pages of an old book. She stayed in the shadows for a moment. Perhaps he wouldn't notice her, and he would begin that slow graceful waltz with a ghost again. However, he raised his head from the book, gave her a grave look, and murmured, "Forgive me, Mrs. Machiavelli. I hope my music didn't wake you."

"No," she answered softly. She caught a glimpse of a bird, with brilliant ice-blue plumage, winging his airy way across the book's pages. "You didn't wake me up. I just had a lot on my mind, and when I heard that song, I wondered..." He started to nibble his lip, and she cursed herself inwardly once more for causing this man so much embarrassment. "Please don't stop your dance because of me. I won't bother you again."

"It's all right." The older man's smile was tinged with sadness. "As Vivaldi wrote, 'Song and dance are done; the gentle pleasant air and the season invite one and all to the delights of sweetest sleep.' Good night, Mrs. Machiavelli."

She ambled up the staircase and through the hallways, hoping to hear his footsteps on the ballroom floor, hoping to hear the strains of "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." The sounds never came.

_Across my memory..._

The petite maid's black hair bounced crazily as she stormed up to Delilah after breakfast. In a voice tinged with the accent of the English countryside, Angie announced, "All right, miss, I'm not normally this bold, but I want to know. What have you done to the master?"

"Angie!" Leah scolded, her own cinnamon-blonde hair tumbling out of the cap's confines as she shook her head. "Honestly, that mouth of yours just gets you in trouble…"

"It's _true_," Angie answered. "This morning Master Sam's all out of sorts! He always has his coffee at the same time each day, and he always has his breakfast here at the table… this morning, he took his coffee late, and without cream and sugar! And he didn't even _eat_. Just said I was to make sure the lady had everything she needed, and knew where all the facilities were… and I want to know what you _did_!"

"You can't prove that Mrs. Machiavelli's done anything!" And suddenly the two young women were arguing, calling each other "skank" and "ho" among other unpleasant epithets.

Delilah sighed, wrapped her hands around her cup of tea. Her explorations from the previous night had turned the Oak household upside down. She hadn't only ruined his breakfast, she'd also ruined his work schedule. On her way to breakfast, she had overheard the brief conversation between Dimitri and Ian. Samuel Oak had never avoided reading the morning paper, had never missed a moment of the Pokemon morning feeding, had never taken the morning ride before tackling a bit of the lab's paperwork for the day. Today, however, he had announced that he was taking the day off, and he told the men to manage as best they could.

_And he's definitely avoiding me_. 

She gazed at the note that had been carefully placed under her door. _Mrs. Machiavelli—Forgive my inhospitality, but I will be unavailable for most of the day. I've instructed the staff to help you in any way that they can. Enjoy your day. I remain, SG Oak._

"Here, now, what's all this fuss about?" Karen hurried from the kitchen. "Why are you girls arguing now? I've told you, Master Sam loves us all just as much—"

"No, no!" Angie shook her head. "It's the visitor! She's upset Master Sam somehow! He's not himself today!"

"Liar!" Leah cried as Karen gazed at Delilah thoughtfully. "Master Sam just gets that way sometimes! And she's not even been here long enough to upset him!" 

Before the girls could resume their verbal brawl, Delilah spoke. "It's true. The Professor and I did have a… confrontation of sorts last night."

At first, the women grew very quiet. Angie looked ashamed. Finally Karen asked, "What happened?"

Delilah gazed into her tea, absently stirred the cup. "I'm not sure," she began, watching the amber liquid as it swirled. "I was up, and I couldn't sleep, and I needed to go to the bathroom. I wandered into the hallway… and then I heard some music. I followed the sound… I went down to the ballroom… and I saw him dancing." From the corner of her eye, she saw the women exchange a surprised look. "I watched him. He was dancing with an imaginary woman. But then he danced too close to the staircase, and he saw me." She paused a moment.

"So _that's_ what the master does with that music every night," Leah murmured. "He dances… but that's silly. Why wouldn't he want us to see that? He dances every year at the Christmas party…"

Karen nodded at the young lady. "That's true, Leah. But… well, please keep going, miss. I think I know where this is headed."

_What must this woman know?_ But Delilah continued. "There's nothing else to tell, really. He seemed very embarrassed about being caught. He wouldn't look at me. He just pointed me toward a bathroom. When I came back, he was reading a book. There was a picture of a huge bird with blue feathers…" Karen nodded again with more conviction. "And he just wished me a good night—"

"'Song and dance are done; the gentle pleasant air and the season—'" Karen's voice held the same pacing that the Professor's had.

Delilah nearly dropped her teacup. "Yes! That's what he said! What does that mean?" _And was the cook actually the imaginary woman?_ She imagined slapping herself for thinking such a thing, for even caring about such a thing. What did it matter if he were a lecherous man?

"Is there something you know, Karen?" Now Angie had turned her vengeful spirits upon Karen. "What's all this about? Are you…"

Karen gave the young women a gentle smile. "Now, now, girls. You mustn't think the worst of me. No, I'm not Master Sam's lover or anything foolish as that." She fiddled with the placemats before she continued. "Miss, you don't know this, but you girls know. I've worked here practically all my life, and you know I grew up with Master Max." Here her cheeks grew red, but she continued. "I've seen and heard a lot about Master Sam in my time here…" She rose, walked to the china cabinet, turned to regard the younger women. "How can I try to explain so much to you… Like Max, Master Sam is a man of many dreams. Unfortunately, Master Sam's never really been allowed to follow them. When he… tried to dream, Mistress Tessa would always scold him for being a hopeless romantic. In time, he slowly learned to show those dreams only to Max, who in turn showed them to me." She ran a finger along the cabinet, frowned thoughtfully at the dust collected on her finger.

_A man of many dreams_… Delilah wondered. "So what does it all mean, Karen?" 

The young women's eyes met. "Miss, Master Sam has inadvertently shown you a dream," Karen murmured. "Go and tell him that dreaming is all right. You'll figure out how to do it."

_Yeah, right_, Delilah thought to herself as she trudged away from the house. _No one's even bothered to tell me that dreaming is okay. How in the hell am I supposed to tell him that_? Still, she headed to the stables to get a horse and to pick Trevor's brain.

The young stablehand had given her a smart, gentle steed, a sweet Ponyta filly named Red Rose. He had also pointed her to a hill in the distance. "The Master likes to ride over that hillside. It overlooks his pond. He's probably there now." He'd gazed at her for a moment before continuing. "I hope you can snap him out of it, ma'am."

"Thank you, Trevor," she answered, pulling her hood over her head. "I'll do my best."

At first riding through the snowdrifts had been a difficult task. Rose Red, a slow steed by nature, had moved to a crawl in knee-deep-and-rising snow. The steadily falling flakes also slowed their progress, clouding both the woman and the horse's vision. The mane and tail flames helped a little, but they weren't as strong as Rapunzel's had been. Briefly Delilah wondered if she could make them flare, just as the Professor had done with Rapunzel. "Come on, horsie," she murmured in the Ponyta's twitching ear. "Light your flames for me." No response, so she tried again. "Let down your flowing hair, that I may climb the golden stair?" Still no response. _Hmm_.

Somehow she reached the base of that hill. As Trevor had predicted, she could see outlines of a man and a horse. Now what? Should she call to him, or should she just ride to him? In the end, a desire to be the riding, conquering hero won, so she plodded up the hill.

The Professor was gazing out into the distance, gazing over the whole Pallet Town area. He seemed not to notice her until she spoke. "Even in all this snow, the view up here is lovely."

He jerked a bit in surprise, then turned to face her. "Mrs. Machiavelli! I—" But then he looked away. "You shouldn't be out here in all this cold air. You'll catch your death of cold."

"So will you," she answered softly. "I wasn't the only one who got caught in a frozen lake the other day."

He blushed, but said nothing. She gazed down at the pond, gave an involuntary shiver as she mentally recreated her accident. "Is this where you were when you saw me fall in?"

"Yes. I decided to come here in case…" He smiled slightly. "In case another damsel happened to be in distress."

Her insides trembled. Was that really why he'd come here? Still, she kept her focus on her goal—to get the Professor out of his self-imposed exile and back to his household. "I'm afraid there are more damsels-in-distress at the house, Professor."

"What's wrong? Has something happened? Is Angie sick again?"

He looked ready to ride away at the least breath of agreement, so she hurried to answer him. "No, no. Nothing like that. The house and everyone in it is fine. They're all just worried about you." He looked away again, gazed into the snow. "They've been telling me all morning that you're acting, well, not like yourself. After what happened last night… I feel responsible for it."

"It's not your fault, I assure you." He rubbed his face, sighed. "It's more me. I just feel so silly… I… Your husband, for instance. When he told you about me, he probably told you that everyone thinks I'm crazy, right? It's all right," he chuckled as she bit her lip. "Everyone thinks that about me. I don't really care what they think, as long as they don't see anything. I guess I just feel silly because… well, now someone finally has proof that I've lost my mind. Tessa would be glad."

"Who's Tessa? Your wife?"

"Yes. Her name was Theresa, but we called her Tessa."

_The woman on the portrait._ "What was she like? Was she anything like you?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "Goodness, no. She was everything I'm not. The opposite through and through, though once upon a time she was like me. I officially specialize in the study of the Legendaries; she specialized in ordinary Pokemon. I'm a dreamer; she was always a doer. It's through her efforts that we have the Preserve and the Research facility here." His eyes grew bright. "It's very nice to have a lab, but if I had my choice, I'd be out in the world. The fearless Researcher, stalking down and slaying Dragonites, perhaps—"

_Slaying Dragonites? Oh, Lord._

"—or chasing after the Legendary birds of the Orange Islands." And then he gave her an excited, boyish grin. "Have you ever seen them? Articuno, Zapdos, Moltres?"

The question caught her off guard. "Why, I—I didn't realize people could just go and look at them. I've only seen them in picture books. Have you actually seen them?"

"Oh, yes, many times. I saw them when I was a boy, and then I went back to do more research in later years. They roost in the islands surrounding Shamouti Island. They're very difficult to reach, and if you make it there, the birds are fierce at first. Yet one can eventually gain their trust and respect. They may be Legendary in nature, but in the end, they can behave as docilely as any ordinary trained Pokemon." Now he was in his element; the words were pouring out of him rapidly. "My favorite one is the Articuno. It's gorgeous. Very large but very beautiful. Imagine it." 

The Professor dropped the reins a moment. He closed his eyes, threw his head back. Delilah watched the snowflakes as they fell on his face, listened in rapture as he continued to weave his spell.

"A brilliant bird, with plumes the color of a bright winter morning, gazing at you with its sharp gray eyes. It's at least three heads taller than you are, and it looks ready to snap your head off. You're afraid, you're very afraid, but you stand your ground. You gaze at each other, just the bird and you, for what seems like an eternity but is only seconds. Then, suddenly, the bird lifts himself to his full, majestic height, and begins to spread his wings." The Professor slowly lifted his arms, stretched them out to his sides. "Wingspan at least 20 feet. He begins to beat the air with his wings, and you feel the air, dusty and cold, pulsing against your face, nearly knocking you down. And just as you think the bird is prepared to strike—" He paused a moment. "The bird just as quickly settles down and dips into an elegant bow. He wants you to ride on his back, you see, he's inviting you to come with him to feel the crisp wintry air on your face, to see the world from a great height…" He lowered his arms, gazed at the dancing flames of Rapunzel's mane. "That Articuno saved my life once," he murmured.

Delilah held her breath, felt her mouth falling open. When the Professor's dark eyes fell upon her again, he looked afraid. "Have I done something foolish again?" he asked quietly. "I'm sorry. People sometimes seem afraid of my stories, the way I put things into fairy tales—"

"No," she said, cutting him off. "Don't apologize. I like your story very much." She paused a moment. "I forgot to tell you the other day… I like fairy tales myself."

Now it was his turn to appear incredulous. "You _do_?"

She nodded.

"Oh. I…" The boyish smile returned to his face. "I didn't think anyone liked things like that any more."

She couldn't stop her smile—and she didn't want to stop it. "Oh, yes. There are some people out there who still like stories and still believe in dreams."

They sat there, smiling foolishly at each other. Then she sneezed, and he chuckled. "Come on, let's ride back to the house. This really can't be good for either of us. I'll tell you a little silly story on the way back to the house. Would you like that?"

"Yes, I'd like that very much."

"Very well, then." As they began their walk back to the house, he began his story. "Once upon a time, a young boy named Samuel lived deep in the Ilex Forest with his mother and his sister. Samuel's mother was well versed in the folk culture, both of Johto and of here in the Iroke mountains, so she spent a lot of time telling Samuel all the folk tales that she knew. Eventually Samuel came to crave these tales. He loved them, because he liked to think of himself as the conquering hero, as the handsome prince. As Samuel grew older, he began to think of girls, as all young boys do in the fullness of time. But no ordinary woman would do for Samuel. No, he wanted a woman who could match the ideal woman of those tales—someone kind, sweet, loving, innocent, beautiful… a dreamer… just an all-around wonderful woman who could be the princess of his dreams."

_The…princess of his dreams?_ Delilah gasped again, felt the wild pounding in her chest. _No. This can't be happening. No man thinks like that._

"Well, soon Samuel heard a song that somehow reminded him of his ideal woman. Maybe you've heard the song before," he added with a wink. "He liked the lyrics." She knew even before he began to recite the words in a soft voice.

Let me call you Sweetheart,   
I'm in love with you.   
Let me hear you whisper that you love me too.   
Keep the lovelight glowing in your eyes so true.  
Let me call you Sweetheart,  
I'm in love with you!   
  
I am dreaming, dear, of you   
Day by day,  
Dreaming when the skies are blue,   
When they're gray;   
When the silv'ry moonlight gleams,   
Still I wander on in dreams   
In a land of love, it seems,   
Just with you....   
  
Let me call you Sweetheart,   
I'm in love with you.   
Let me hear you whisper that you love me too.   
Keep the lovelight glowing in your eyes so true.   
Let me call you Sweetheart,   
I'm in love with you! 

Delilah had never heard the words before; they struck a chord within her. "Sing it for me," she begged, wanting to hear the words with the music.

"I wish I could. However, I promised myself that I would only sing it to the woman of my dreams. Nothing personal, you understand, just another silly quirk of mine."

"Oh, I see." She fought to hide her disappointment. "And now that your wife is gone, there's no reason to sing it anymore. I think that's wonderful."

The smile on his face held just a touch of bitterness. "My wife? Oh, no, Mrs. Machiavelli. Ironically enough, she never heard me sing it either. To date, no woman has ever heard me sing it." After a few seconds, after the words had time to sink into the snow and into her mind, he continued. "Still, I do enjoy dancing with my imaginary woman to the tune. Who knows? Perhaps someday I'll find the woman who's worthy of hearing me sing it, of dancing with me to it."

"Yes," Delilah murmured, shivering within her cloak. "I'm sure you will someday."

Back at the house, everyone was standing at the front door, watching them ride to the house. "Hey," the Professor yelled playfully as he helped Delilah up to the house, "are we all on vacation now? Why isn't anyone working?" Trevor raced out to take the horses back to the stable; Angie and Leah grabbed hands and jumped up and down; Ian muttered about the pot calling the kettle black; Dimitri regarded Delilah with a curious, hot-blooded stare; and Karen ran her fingers through her blonde hair and beamed at Delilah.

"Does it all make sense now, miss?" the young cook asked as she led Delilah to the kitchen for a warm cup of tea.

"Yeah, it really does." But as she grasped the china cup with trembling hands, Delilah decided that nothing made sense any more, especially her emotions.

Through the whole day, she could not stop thinking of him. She passed through the ballroom—and again she saw him waltzing gracefully in the shadows. She tried to gaze out the window at the snowfall—but she saw the snowflakes falling on his face, melting. She tried to focus on dinner—but every time the Professor spoke to her, she could only hear his voice: "Still I wander on in dreams in a land of love, it seems, just with you…"

_No, Delilah, stop it. You haven't known the man long enough to feel this way. _She refused to state, even to herself, what she might be feeling for the Professor. All she knew was that he was much older than she was, and that he was a friend of the family, and that she had only known him for two days, and that she was a married woman, for God's sake… and that he had the most adorable smile, and that he had felt so strong during the horse ride yesterday…

Just after dinner that evening, before everyone gathered for post-dinner cocktails, the videophone rang. "Mrs. Machiavelli," Leah called through the door, "it's your husband."

_Thank God. Maybe this is just what I need to snap out of all of this. _"I'm on my way, Leah!"

Giovanni had looked tan, warm, infinitely happy. "Hey, babydoll, how's it goin'? I called the house and got your new message. Got snowed in, huh? That's crappy. You tired of the snow yet?"

"Not just yet." She quickly decided not to tell him how she had spent much of the past few days in the snow, and with whom. "It's beautiful, but really chilly. I caught a bit of a cold, but it's not bad."

"Poor baby! And there's no kinda doctor worth anything in that one-horse town…"

Then why on earth had he brought her here? She wanted to scream, and she hadn't even been on the phone with him for one minute yet! Still, Delilah pasted a smile on her face. "Oh, it's all right. The Professor and his staff have been taking good care of me, so I'm doing fine."

"Oh, yeah, you're over at Sam's house. I'm surprised you didn't go over to Mama and Papa in Viridian." He sounded as if he were scolding her for not racing to her in-laws.

_Not for all the tea in China._ "I was too afraid to drive. I was scared I'd get caught in the snow."

"Hm, figures. You've always been a little fraidy-cat. Maybe once the snow lets up, though, Papa or Uncle Sergio can come get you."

"I think I'm fine just where I am."

She didn't know where she got the courage to speak so boldly. She hadn't even realized what she'd said until she saw Gio's shocked look. Seconds later, though, Gio cleared his throat and said, "Well, the Professor's house must really be something, then, to make you want to leave the city."

"Yeah, it's really nice here. He's got a great library, and fireplaces, and his servants are so kind." Delilah began to play with her wedding ring.

"What do you think of the man himself?"

She nearly dropped her ring. "You mean the Professor? He's been very polite. A good, warm, and welcoming host."

"He started talkin' about his Legendary birds yet? He used to tell the kookiest story about how this Articuno saved him one time…" Giovanni laughed. "The man's half out of his mind, I swear—"

She gripped the receiver, snapped, "I don't think he's crazy at all! I think he's…" And then Delilah realized what she had been about to say: _perfect_. _Princely_. "Just… really great," she finished lamely.

A moment of silence. Then Gio answered in a sardonic tone, "It figures. You _would _like him. Give it some time. You'll see."

Delilah clenched her fist around the chair leg, quickly counted to five. "How's the expedition going?"

He shrugged. "Not too bad. We found some stuff that's pretty valuable. We haven't found the big prize yet, though, so we'll keep looking. I just don't know how long it'll take…"

She nibbled her lip for a moment, then blurted, "How is Miya Lewis? The woman I was talking to at the airport." She watched his face for any sign of discomfort…

..and got it, in spades. "She's good," Gio answered. "She's doing good. One of the best people I've got on the team." But he suddenly became very interested in his shirt sleeves.

"How long have you known her?"

Then he began slapping at his arms. "Damn mosquitos. I don't know, Delilah, she's been working for the business for a long time. Why do you ask? Did she tell you something?" He tried to sound teasing, but it failed miserably.

_Tread carefully. "No, no, she just said she's been with the dealership for a while." What was he hiding, though? How far could she push before he revealed something?_

"Yeah, she's worked with us ever since we were both teenagers. We worked together a lot." She watched her husband's fingers tap the receiver for a moment. Then he added, quite softly, "She's got a daughter, you know…"

_Oh, no, please God no…Delilah could feel the tears springing to her eyes. That bastard couldn't tell her something as catastrophic as that over the phone, could he? She should have known… she had known… Quickly she placed her hand lightly over the receiver, called, "I'm coming," to an imaginary voice, and lifted her hand again. "I'm sorry, Gio, they're calling me. I promised I'd have dinner with everyone. I have to go."_

"Wait, Delilah, babydoll—"

She froze. "Yes, Gio?" she asked, her hand shaking. _Please, don't do this to me now…_

"Babydoll… what about our baby?" He had a hand pressed to the screen. "Is there any way… do you know if you have any chance of being pregnant now? Any chance at all?"

It took every ounce of courage she had to put on a cheerful demeanor. She made her shrug seem effortless, made her smile dazzlingly bright, crossed her fingers tightly. "We'll just have to see!"

He looked strangely placid, almost defeated. "All right, babydoll. I'll try to call you again in a couple days."

"Good night, Gio. Love you."

"Good night, Delilah. Love you."

But she knew he didn't love her, and she was tired of trying. So very tired.

When the screen grew completely dark, Delilah placed the receiver back on the cradle, buried her face in her hands, allowed herself a few moments of quiet tears before heading back to the ballroom. She briefly considered drinking something undiluted, perhaps a shot or five of vodka. In the end, though, she decided on one mixed drink.

"Welcome back, madame," Dimitri said warmly as she ambled over to the makeshift bar. "Why don't you let me make you a White Russian? I'm very good at making them. They are a necessary part of my country's heritage, after all."

"Thank you, Dimitri, I'd like that." She seated herself in a nearby armchair. Only after a few moments did she note that she was seated next to the Professor. As he had yesterday, he gave her a dark gaze over his glass of brandy. Her heart fluttered for a moment; he searched her face, looked concerned.

"There you are, madame." Dimitri handed her the glass with a low bow. "Made with the best ingredients and the most loving care." The maids giggled; the Professor rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"How is your husband doing, Mrs. Machiavelli?" Leah asked.

_Damn him_… "He's fine, thank you, Leah. His expedition is going quite well, he says." And she lifted her glass to drink half of its contents. The alcohol went to her head almost instantly, just as she wanted it to do. She wanted to forget the whole day, hell, the last six months…

"Careful, madame! Slowly, drink it slowly!" Dimitri wagged a finger at her playfully. "White Russians are meant to be enjoyed slowly, to be savored at one's leisure."

Ian added sardonically, "Yeah, you should certainly savor a White Russian. You should ignore white Americans posing as Russians, though." That sent the whole staff into gales of laughter.

As they laughed, Delilah held her head, felt tears springing to her eyes once more. Before she could reach up to blot them carefully away, she heard the Professor's sweet voice close to her. "Are you all right?"

She tried to grin weakly at him. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just feeling a bit under the weather. I guess I shouldn't have gone outside." As if on cue, she sneezed, and the tears dropped from her eyes. Then they wouldn't stop coming. _Dammit, no, I can't lose face in front of them…_She placed her glass on the table and rose. "Please excuse me, everyone. I'm not feeling very well. I'll see you all in the morning."

The Professor stood, took her arm. "Allow me to escort you, Mrs. Machiavelli." As the servants called their "good nights" and "take cares" up to her, she clutched on to the Professor's arm for support. Halfway up the staircase, she rested her throbbing head against his shoulder. Again she smelled his cologne; again she delighted in the sheer muscle beneath his sleeves. He did not move away. Instead, he released her long enough to wrap his arm around her waist. 

When they reached her room, Delilah expected the Professor to kiss her hand and leave, as he had done the previous night. However, he opened the door and led her inside, then followed, closing the door behind him. _What is he doing?_ she wondered…

… and she nearly screamed when he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She kicked, struggled a bit, but he held her close and sat on the mattress. _So this is how it ends_, she thought. She should have known that no man who seemed so honorable could stay that way for long. In truth, she had no fight left; if he were going to rape her, she honestly didn't care. That was all men wanted anyway.

Yet, when he sat her on his lap, the Professor gently pressed her face into his shoulder, tenderly began stroking her hair, softly murmured to her. "Mrs. Machiavelli. I don't know how sick you are, though you feel a bit warm. I don't know what your husband's said to you, though I know you look terribly sad. I do know that you've been through a lot lately, and you need to cry. And I know I can't stand thinking of a woman crying alone. Please feel free to cry on me."

The unexpected display of tenderness from a near-stranger, and he was so strong and soothing, and she could not believe that this man was so hell-bent upon helping her… and soon Delilah was sobbing into his shoulder, making his blazer a soggy mess. The whole time, the Professor merely held her, continued to stroke her hair, told her that it would be all right.

After a while, when her sobs had dwindled to tiny gasps, she finally had enough breath to ask, "Why?"

The simplicity of his answer sealed everything. "Because you saved me earlier, and because I can never resist a damsel in distress."

Then, seconds later, he said, raking his fingers through the softness of her hair, "I know I'm a poor substitute for your husband, and I'm not quite the right type of doctor, but I would like very much to be your friend."

"Oh, yes," she whispered. "I'd like that."

"Would you call me Samuel?"

"Only if you'll call me Delilah."

"Well, Delilah," he said, carefully laying her on the mattress, "why don't we put all the sadness past us and begin to make the best of what we have?" He stood, smiled. "Hopefully I'll see you in the morning for breakfast. Perhaps by that point the snow will have stopped, and we can take the horses out. If nothing else, I can sit around and tell you more of my silly stories."

"I've got a few of my own," she assured him.

"I look forward to them, then!" The Professor—Samuel—strode to the door and opened it. She followed him with her eyes, called after him, "Good night, Samuel."

"Good night, Delilah," he answered. She feasted on his silhouette in the doorframe. "Pleasant dreams." The door clicked shut.

As she lay there, listening to the crackle of the fireplace and the wind blowing against the windows, Delilah Machiavelli allowed herself to imagine a life without Giovanni Machiavelli. A life in which her dreams and desires were met, not ignored. Where having a child or pleasing Mama weren't high priorities. Where a man felt free to dream, and to stay with her long enough to share his dreams with her. Where true happiness was just… spending the day in Samuel Oak's arms.

And with that, she allowed herself to admit what she had fighting all day long—to admit that Samuel Oak was indeed the prince of her dreams.

**End Part 2**

**Postlude**: Well, that went on for too long and ended sappily. Oh, well. I got all the plot points I had outlined down, and that's the important thing. Now then. Stay tuned for Part 3, in which the Princess realizes that her love won't be as unrequited as she believes… And you know you love Eldershipping. You _know_ you do. So just give in and come on over to Glorious Revolution. Eldershippers unite! ^_~


End file.
